Truth or Consequences in particular and New Mexico in general can claim the great artist H. Joe Waldrum, not because he is a native, but because he did his most important art work here.
Rio Bravo Fine Art, which he founded in 1998, holds the greatest number of his paintings and prints. A retrospective of his work will be up at the gallery until Jan. 26, 2020, giving the art world a chance to re-weigh his contribution to the art world.
The show is essentially a recapitulation of all his various periods. This article, however, will concentrate on what he called his “window” or “triptych” series, which will bring out his core formal concerns. They sound boring in description—squares within squares of different colors and textures–and photographs do them no justice. They must be experienced. He did them in the 1970s and 80s.
Waldrum, whose writing relates experiences, showing rather than telling, said in his book, “Ando en Cueros (I Walk Stark Naked),” he purposely stripped his focus down to essentials to get rid of any abstract-expressionist influences he had assumed. Although he was successful with and known for those paintings, he realized they weren’t coming from his true self, what he called his “ordinary.”
Light being a primary focus in his work makes pinning down his locale important.
In his book, he said he had a show in Santa Fe seven years into the window series. He had lived three of those years in New York and four in New Mexico, but “never once had I looked at a New York window as subject matter for my paintings.”
He was annoyed with a reporter who praised the series but claimed they were New York, not New Mexico paintings.
“There was absolutely nothing New York about them. They were and still are as New Mexican as the back of the church at Ranchos de Taos.” Out of annoyance, he did a painting of the back of that church and then resumed his window series, he said.
“Today, [1994 the book was published] as I paint in my studio, my concerns are still about middleground [sic], foreground, and background: they are a continuation of those earlier value and color studies. Beyond these considerations, I have nothing to explain except that the windows transport my spirit.”
In the book, Waldrum makes much of the fact that his photographs, prints and paintings are all of a piece, and art-gallery representatives and art critics couldn’t tell them apart. “It’s how I see the world. . .It’s my vision. . .it’s what I see. . .It looks that way to me,” he said.
Taking Waldrum at his word, it would therefore be a mistake to look at his window series as abstract. They may look like minimalist abstract New York paintings to the uninitiated, but that’s because Waldrum saw the world stripped down in light sensations. The paintings relay very concrete relationships of light in New Mexico.
I don’t know if these triptychs are consistently arranged as outer square corresponding to background, middle square to middleground and inner square to foreground. I am certain, however, Waldrum had as finely gauged an inner light meter as is possible to develop, feeling and recording how light reflected off the hills, mountains and sky at all different times of day and night.
His book makes clear that he was trying to record reflected light, stripping away the mental construct of the weight of mountains, for example. “Our eyes receive reflection . . . nothing else. We never see the object; we see the light it reflects. When I make art, I concern myself with the amount of reflection I perceive.”
At about 6 a.m., when the sun was not up but the horizon was lightening, I saw the interrelationships of the squares in one of Waldrum’s triptychs confirmed. Turtleback Mountain was black against a milky-beige sky and the foothills were charcoal, a slight limning setting off the fore-, middle, and back-grounds.
In another triptych I feel the same sensation as being steeped in the heated red earth under my feet and looking up at the blue twilit sky before the stars come out in an endless summer day, the mountains silhouetted nearly black but edged with a flickering light as the sun dies and the moon rises.
Waldrum’s seemingly abstract work may therefore be among the most concrete art possible, recreating the body’s sensation in a New Mexico landscape at distinct times of day and season.
This formal investigation of reflected light by Waldrum redefines the painted canvas, which is usually a window into an artist’s created pictorial space, usually using perspective. Just as Waldrum claimed, the paintings transport you into a much larger container.
For this formal pictorial discovery Waldrum should be lauded and people should be beating a path to Rio Bravo’s door.